


Friends

by sonictrowel



Series: Long Night in the Blue House [50]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Flash Forward, Frenemies, Gen, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 05:04:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11120481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonictrowel/pseuds/sonictrowel
Summary: The Doctor sighed as he dropped into his new chair at his new, empty desk and scrubbed his hand through his hair.  He wondered if it would get any easier with time.  He doubted it.  The good part was that it was temporary, but that almost made it harder.





	Friends

**Author's Note:**

> Part 50!!! I would just like to say... holy shit. At the time of posting this chapter, this series was already at nearly 105,000 words. When I first read that I thought there must be a zero off or something. I googled "how many words are novels" and the answer is... often quite a lot shorter than that!
> 
> So, thank you so, so much to everyone who's been reading and commenting along for the past few months, and the new readers who've started from the beginning with such a daunting wordcount. I can't tell you how happy it makes me to read your comments, whether when I post a new one (because I am always afraid I've written a clunker when I first post) or when you're binging a bunch of chapters at a time and commenting reactions as you go- that is seriously so much fun to read.
> 
> I honestly never wrote fanfic, or, really, fiction at all until this year. I am a Grown Lady who grew up reading fanfic, but never writing it. And you all have made it such a treat for me to finally dive in and write something!
> 
> Ok, this isn't the end or anything (although it is, finally, in sight!) I just saw that wordcount and did a double-take and had to give a proper thank you to everyone who's kept me going through this completely accidental epic beast (in which, somehow, very little plot actually takes place, so even more of a testament to your patience!) and tell you how completely delighted I am with your wonderful kind words. Hearing that you enjoy the story totally makes my day. I love you all!
> 
> And, of course, we Doctor/River lovers need to band together and keep the content coming! :)

[Earth, 1938]

It was already after dark when the Doctor had finished securing his lectureship position at St. Luke’s, with the help of a Psychic CV provided by the TARDIS, and made it to his new office.  The empty room had the palpable stillness of age and smelled of old wood and dust.  It suited him well enough.  Soon it’d have plenty of old books, and it would be better. 

“I still don’t see why you thought it was a good idea to come back to this time,” Nardole groused as he lugged a box out of the TARDIS.  “You’ll have to be careful you don’t start lecturing on science that hasn’t been discovered yet.  They haven’t even got wi-fi!”

“You bloody well know why I came here,” the Doctor grumbled.

“But sir, you said yourself, you can’t go anywhere near Manhattan.  The timelines are—” 

“I know _perfectly well_ what I said, fuck you very much,” he snapped. 

“Well, _excuse me,_ ” Nardole retorted with a scowl, setting the box on the desk and muttering to himself as he walked back to the TARDIS. 

The Doctor sighed as he dropped into his new chair at his new, empty desk and scrubbed his hand through his hair.  He wondered if it would get any easier with time.  He doubted it.  The good part was that it _was_ temporary, but that almost made it harder.  Hope was a blessing and a curse, because as long as he knew there was a light at the end of the tunnel, he couldn’t rest, he couldn’t forget, he couldn’t heal.  No matter how distant that light might be, he would live every single day desperately reaching for it, until he had them back again.  It was already exhausting.

He couldn’t go to New York.  Maybe he could write them.  Maybe they would come to see _him—_ no, no.  He couldn’t.  It was the same time distortion that kept him away from them that was keeping them safe.  But fuck, it was _right_ there.  Just a hop across the ocean.  Bristol to Manhattan, the work of a second in the TARDIS.  And yet, it wasn’t possible. 

Yes, fine, Nardole was right: he was torturing himself for fuck all, but he certainly wasn’t about to tell him that.

The Doctor had thought about settling in on another planet, but there was no way he was taking Missy to Gallifrey, and he couldn’t think of anywhere else he could tolerate living for an extended period of time.  He wasn’t sure he could tolerate it at all, without River.  But he’d made a promise, now.  It was something to keep him busy.  Teaching his oldest friend to be good, that’d definitely take some doing.  Might help keep his mind off things.

Vincent stepped out of the TARDIS and began prowling round the room, sniffing in corners, before leaping up onto an empty built-in bookshelf and folding his feet under him.

“You going to be a bookend, Vince?” the Doctor asked, his voice sounding so very worn and tired to his own ears.  “Need some books first.”

Vincent flicked his tail in acknowledgment but said nothing.  He wasn’t happy about leaving Milly’s, after River and Athena had already gone.  Well, that made two of them. 

Nardole re-emerged from the TARDIS with a box of odds and ends.  “Here,” he said, dropping it unceremoniously in front of the Doctor.  “People put knick knacks on their desks.  Make yourself look human.” 

“Pff.  What would _you_ know about human?” the Doctor grumbled, reaching into the box.  His old sonic screwdrivers, and some kind of… crystal ball?, a carved wooden bird.  

There were two framed pictures: River and Susan.

“Where did you get these?” he asked hoarsely as he lifted one frame in slightly trembling hands.  River was beaming back at him.  He didn’t remember taking this one— she was so young.  Actually, he wasn’t sure how anyone could’ve taken it, because it almost looked like—

“Found the whole lot in that box in the library,” said Nardole.  “You didn’t pack it?”

“No,” the Doctor muttered.  

Was it the TARDIS?  Was it _River?_  No, River would’ve left a note.  She always used to leave him little notes: on the psychic paper when she was far away in Stormcage or on Luna or on a dig, on the console when she’d snuck in while he was out and the control room smelt faintly of her perfume.  Funny, he hadn’t ever thought she’d _taken_ the TARDIS anywhere.  Should’ve known, really.  

He swallowed and looked into the box again, rifling through the other bits and bobs.  No pictures of the girls.  Well, it wouldn’t be safe to have them on display.  No one was supposed to know.

“Nardole—” the Doctor called, just as his companion (oh well, no use denying it now) was making to step back into the TARDIS in the corner of the room.  Nardole stopped and turned.

“Sorry,” the Doctor mumbled.

When he managed to look up, Nardole gave him a sympathetic half-smile.  “I know it’s been hard for you.  It’ll be alright, sir.  It’ll all work out in the end.”

He nodded faintly and Nardole disappeared into the TARDIS again.

The Doctor carefully arranged the photos of River and Susan on the desk, nudging them this way and that until they felt exactly right.  Right where he could always see them.   

The rest would fall in place around them, eventually.

He left his office half-full of boxes of books yet to be unpacked, brushing his hand over River’s photo before he tore himself away.  The night air was cool (but not freezing, that was still novel) and the stately old trees whispered and sighed in the breeze.  Students walked about the campus in pairs and groups, less rowdy and better dressed than the young people in 2016, though the student body may as well have been one literal body (a white male one, obviously.)  He scowled.  There was the odd young woman enrolled to every hundred lads, it seemed, but there'd been little chance so far of thinking he’d spotted Mils out of the corner of his eye, here.  '38 Earth had a lot of work to do.

The Doctor had also neglected to mention to Nardole yet what happened after '39.  But St. Luke’s survived the Bristol Blitz; he’d checked!  It was fine!  It’d be fine.  

And it was just late enough in the century that he ought to be able to find takeaway without too much trouble.  He could _murder_ a curry.

___

Upon reflection, he got two.

“So, you’re going to be a _professor?”_  Missy remarked as she tore off a piece of naan, her tone full of… something.  

Well.  She always was full of _something._  He scowled. 

“What.  What’s the matter with that?  I know a good sight more than the lot of these numpties.  I’m imparting my superior knowledge to the youth of Earth.”

She snorted.  “You didn’t have to get a _job.”_  She extended the long “o” mockingly.  “You could’ve stashed me in the bloody Antarctic.  That’ve been the sensible thing to do.”

“Yes, well, I’ve got to keep an eye on you lest you start a penguin uprising.  I’d be bored out of my skull down there.”

“Oh, poor dear, can’t imagine what _that_ would be like,” she sneered around a mouthful.

The Doctor ignored her.  “Plus, I’m fucking sick of cold,” he mumbled.  “Had enough of that for all my lifetimes between bloody Trenzalore and Darillium.”

“Ah yes, your little stint in the snow with the missus!  Honestly, I’m insulted you never introduced us.” 

“You weren’t around.” 

“Oh, Doctor, you know me better than that, surely!  I had my eye on your _ickle baby Bow Tie,”_ she cooed exaggeratedly.  “Couldn’t let you get intae _too_ much trouble without me.  Causing you trouble is my prerogative.” 

“You and I have different definitions of ‘too much trouble.’”

“Clearly.”

The Doctor exhaled sharply in begrudging amusement.  “I’m not sure if you’d love her or if she’d kill you.”

“You say that like the two are mutually exclusive,” Missy enthused, eyes alight with interest.  “Does a bit of killing, does she, your bidie-in?”

“A bit,” he admitted, and realised he was smiling fondly.  He quickly scrunched his face back into a scowl.

“Really, Doctor!  And you so high and mighty with your being _good._  I guess you’ll make an exception when you’re getting your Nat King with her—”

He sighed heavily.  “She doesn’t do it for _fun.”_  Well, that might’ve occasionally been a side benefit, but he wasn’t about to admit that. 

Missy raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips as she shrugged one shoulder.  “If y'say so.”

The Doctor dug into his chicken tikka masala.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed,” Missy said lightly.

“What?” he asked, brows furrowing in suspicion. 

“The present tense.”

 

 


End file.
